Chapter 3
Chapter Three
“Hey Prim,” I chirp, attempting my most relaxed and not-guilty-at-all smile.
Why did it have to be her? Why not any other officer in the entire witching universe?
Prim adjusts her tortoiseshell glasses and peers down at her clipboard.
She sighs with disappointment and, as hard as I try, the smile slips from my face.
Prim is the very definition of a perfect witch, epitomised by the fact, despite the tropical temperatures, she’s dressed in a smart black suit, sensible brogues, and even bloody tights.
Her Magical Enforcement badge is pinned to the lapel of her jacket; every strand of her chestnut bob neatly arranged, and her white shirt expertly pressed.
Her makeup is not smudged; there’s no sheen of sweat on her face, and as always she looks as cool as a cucumber.
She passed the Witching Academy with top marks, won a prestigious apprenticeship at the Witching Authorities, and quickly rose to become one of the most decorated Magical Enforcement Officers in the country.
My parents, and most of my extended family, are bursting with such pride, I’m surprised they haven’t popped a blood vessel.
Unfortunately, I am the polar opposite of my sister, flunking out of the academy, struggling to hold down a job and unable to iron my own shirt – with or without magic.
“I wasn’t expecting you today,” I say, attempting to keep up the cheerful and totally innocent act.
Behind my sister, Damien rolls his eyes at my appalling acting skills.
Prim taps her fountain pen against her clipboard.
“We’ve had a report of a magical explosion, Molly,” she says with that same disappointment. Why does every member of my family have to talk to me with that same tone? “This is the third time this month.”
“And like those other two times, I have no idea why such a report was made. There’s been no explosion.” I shrug my shoulders.
“No explosion at all,” Damien adds.
Prim spins on her heels and registers my friend for the first time.
“Oh, hello Damien.” She smiles. My sister actually likes my friend despite all his devious attributes. It’s only my exploits she can’t tolerate. I guess because it reflects badly on her. And I do feel bad that my ‘job’ doesn’t reflect well on her, but a girl has got to eat.
“Looking beautiful as always,” he says with a wink, and my sister’s cheeks pinken. Then she collects herself, coughing into her fist before she focuses back on me, finding McGruff sniffing around her feet.
“Oh, and hello to you too,” she says to him, reaching down to pat his head. She frowns. “Why is he pink?”
“You don’t like it?” I ask, totally ignoring her question. I’m an awful liar. I try my best to avoid it altogether, especially when it comes to my sister.
Prim tickles McGruff under his chin. “Blue would suit him better.” She stands up straight. “This explosion, you know, I can’t take your word for it, Molly. You know I’m going to have to carry out an inspection and file a report.”
“Can’t you just pretend you carried out the inspection and file a report anyway?
” Damien asks her, but she shakes her head.
Prim sticks to the rules; she always has.
I can’t even hate her for it. She’s one of those people with a strong sense of moral right and wrong and unshakeable integrity.
There’s no grey for Prim, only black and white.
Maybe I would hate her, but she’s also too darn nice.
Even when she used to snitch on me for smuggling toads into my bed or enchanting my pen to do my homework for me, I couldn’t hate her because she’d opt to stay in every night with me and keep me company while I was grounded.
If they locked me in the Witching Prison, I expect she’d volunteer to be locked in with me. Not that it will come to that. Just a hefty fine I can’t afford to pay.
“Go ahead,” I say, sweeping my arm around the flat. “Search away.”
She pushes her glasses up her nose and strolls across to the scene of the crime – the kitchen.
Damien has done a pretty good job of removing all the incriminating evidence, but Prim didn’t achieve a streak of As in her witching-levels for nothing. She’s observant and bright. If Damien missed one speck of evidence, Prim will find it.
I nibble on my nails and Damien shoots me a look which says, ‘don’t be so damn obvious’.
I pin my hands behind my back, but end up chewing on my lip instead.
Prim bends over the stove, dragging a forefinger across the top and sniffing at whatever residue she’s found and my heart beats so dramatically in my chest it makes my ribs ache.
The fine for a love potion will be particularly high. Messing with people’s hearts and their lives is considered a grave offence. There’s a chance that if the Witching Authority decides to make an example of me, I could end up in that prison after all.
Why, oh why, couldn’t today’s potion have been one for stubborn acne or worrying hair loss. The fines for those are pretty minimal – most of the witching community brews those potions for themselves – it’s selling them to the civilian population that gets you into trouble.
The civilians aren’t meant to know about our existence (although many do). It’s why I’ve convinced my family I bake cupcakes for a living and not potions.
Prim is sifting through the pile of ingredients on the countertop and I hope to goodness she doesn’t glance upwards because out of the corner of my eye I spot more of that smoke hovering on the ceiling.
She opens some drawers and some cupboards, surveys the floor, then strides to the living room area, moving cushions and peering under the sofa.
The beat of my heart is starting to return to normal and I think I might have gotten away with this, when my sister, the Magical Enforcement Officer, walks in a path directly towards my bedroom.
“Where are you going?” I shriek, throwing myself between her and the door.
Her eyes narrow and she examines my face. I’m pretty sure my cheeks are flaming. I could never, ever in one hundred years be a spy. I’d blow my own cover in a matter of minutes.
“Your bedroom.”
“My bedroom?” I laugh nervously. “Why do you need to search my bedroom?”
“I need to search the complete property, Molly.”
“But it’s my bedroom. There’s nothing in my bedroom.”
But as those words leave my mouth, I hear the door behind me creak open and my sister’s eyes widen in absolute horror – or is that disbelief … or something else?
Okay, I haven’t been laid in a while. I haven’t had a boyfriend in even longer. But is it really that damn surprising that I have a man in my bedroom?
I turn my head slowly to glance at the man whom I pushed into my bedroom moments ago, and then I totally understand my sister’s expression.
In fact, I’m pretty sure that expression is mirrored on my own face.
Because Mr Hottie appears to have lost all his clothes and is standing butt-naked in my room with only my small hand-towel protecting his modesty.
“Oh my goodness, I didn’t know you had company.
Why didn’t you say you had company?” my sister babbles, jumping backwards.
“Oh! Oooooh! Is this the cause of the explosion?!” In her flustered state, she manages to knock her glasses askew on the bridge of her nose and fumble her pen onto the floor.
Her gaze darts around the room, trying its best not to land back on Mr Hottie.
I can relate. Mr Hottie is huge. There is an awful lot of him. An awful lot of skin and an awful lot of, erm, muscle. Forget Superman. He looks more like a Greek god.
“Company?” I say.
“Explosion?” Mr Hottie growls. “Can someone please tell me what is going on?!”
“This is my sister,” I say like that will magically explain anything.
“Primrose,” my sister says, “Primrose Eccleston.”
“Horatio,” Mr Hottie counters. “Horatio Shaw.”
“Horatio,” I mumble. So not a Harry or a Henry after all.
My sister’s gaze swings between the two of us. Then she scrambles to retrieve her pen from McGruff’s jaws. They tussle backwards and forwards over the pen for what feels like everlasting hours until finally she bops him on the nose and he releases it from his teeth.
“I’m so sorry for intruding, Molly!” she says, her cheeks even pinker than McGruff’s fur. “I’ll call you.”
And then with yet another pop! she’s gone.
I slump down onto the nearest sofa. “What the hell was that about?”
“She thinks you were doing it,” Damien explains, eyes roaming all over Mr Hottie’s – Horatio’s – sculpted physique. “She thinks the explosion was caused by an involuntary orgasmic release of magic.”
“What? That is not a thing.”
“It is.”
“Really?” I ask.
“Can someone please tell me what the hell is going on!” Mr Hottie snaps, cutting right through our chatter.
“Can you tell me why you’re dressed in my towel?!” I snap right back.
He meets my gaze, his brows having dropped into one of his displeased expressions.
“You told me to wait in the bedroom.”
“So?”
“You said you’d be joining me. You gave me this seductive smile.”
“Satan’s nipple ring! I did not mean it like that.”
“Told you. The potion worked,” Damien murmurs.
“Oh lord,” I say, flopping back onto the sofa and burying my face in my hands.
“I’d better leave you to handle this situation,” Damien chimes with amusement.
“Don’t you dare–” I start, but he’s gone in another loud pop!
“Did I bang my head?” Mr Hottie mutters. “How …”
Slowly, I lower my hands and peek up at the giant of a man.
The expression on his face reads complete and utter confusion, one I bet Mr Finance hardly ever sports.
I actually feel sorry for him. I was born and raised in this alternative world, one which exists under the radar, running alongside the plain and ordinary.
It must be utterly mind-blowing for someone just discovering the existence of magic and potions, witches and demons.
I can’t help but take pity on the guy.
“How about you put on some pants and then I’ll explain everything to you.”